There were only a few candles lit in Aengellania’s room. She was poring over tomes recovered from the library when they blew out. In the dark, she feels a presence behind her.
The visions of the bloodbath in Choggrish market assailed Aengellania at first, but she quickly steels her nerve. She doesn’t have to fear her shadow’s whispers. Aengellania rights herself in her chair and starts turning around.
“So you’ve finally manifested again.” she begins. ” If you want to talk, talk. But otherwi-“
“High Marshall Morathell has pursued me here.” A familiar voice whispers behind her, much softer and airier than the daemon Aengellania had expected.
There’s a second’s pause as relief replaces fear and anger, followed swiftly by surprise.
“How?”
“I suspect his karkadrak companion detected me, and now the High Marshall knows what to look for. He’s a determined individual when he sets his mind to a task.” the voice adds, with a hint of pride.
Despite the exhaustion and worry weighing her head, Aengellania smiles.
“So, you want me to intercept him before the Skyguard does?”
“I don’t want him to be hurt, and he’ll listen to you. If I approach him myself it will become… Complicated.”
“Don’t worry, I know.”
Aengellania closes her book and stands up from her chair. She knows her way well enough around the room to gather her things in the dark.
“It’ll be good to catch up with Morathell again. Perhaps it will take my mind off Améline.”
A silence ensues that, for all the stillness of the participants, is busy enough to clang with unsaid thoughts. It’s Aengellania that first breaks the silence.
“You know what’s happened to her.”
“We should focus on Mora-
“Tell me what happened.”
The voice falls silent for a long moment, until their internal debate ends with a sigh.
“Very well…”
Aengellania was already waiting for Morathell by the time he reached Azcleft Pass. She notes joyful surprise pass over his face, but not strongly enough to hide his shame. It reminds her of Gehenna’s Rest, and she feels pity for him…
Back then he had tried to help you by trying to kill you. Now, he’s responsible for Améline’s imprisonment.
Any happiness she felt seeing him safe and sound before her evaporated.
“Améline’s on the Stormdancer.” she said as way of greeting, not letting him speak.
Morathell’s face goes pale, and he nods.
“I know.”
“Where she is being held against her will.”
“I’ve made sure that she’s not chained up or hurt-“
Does it matter?
Morathell’s pleading sends a spike of anger through her.
“Does that matter?”
There must have been more hate in her voice than she had intended, as Morathell took a step back and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“You could have tried to free her. You could have done something. Instead, here you are, chasing after a hint of the past looking for, what, forgiveness?”
This is cruel, Aengellania’s thoughts whisper. Why am I doing this? He clearly feels enough shame as it is.
Before she could start investigating the uneasiness coming over her, her shadow begins moving behind her. It enters the edges of her vision, and whatever Morathell sees makes him fall back on his instincts. He draws his sword. It burns in the harsh mountain light, as if rebuking reality itself. Holding it in his hand ignites a fire in his eyes, one that is fueled by blood.
“I don’t want your forgiveness, witch.” he intones with two voices.
No words now. Kill him, before he hurts you again.
Feeling the anger rise up in her and knowing that she can’t silence it anymore, Aengellania prepares herself to unleash magic. Morathell crouches, tensing up to charge her.
It’s too late to back down now, no matter how much she wishes otherwise…
The nature of her thoughts hit her like a hammer.
Aengellania dispels the spells forming in her hands and lowers them. She ignores the feelings of frustration broiling in the back of her mind, now knowing that they didn’t belong to her.
“What are we doing, Morathell?” she asks with a small voice.
Morathell blinks, just as surprised as she is. He glances down at his sword, fighting an internal battle to hold on to it.
“We’re… We’re going to…”
His voice trails off, but Aengellania nods to show that she understands.
“Do either of us want to?”
Morathell’s sword drops from his slack grip and clatters onto the stone.
“No.”
Yes.
Aengellania silences Fa’raamon’s voice within herself, and realises what it is that she really wants to do.
She rushes over to Morathell and hugs him tight.
The Marshall flinches, but soon she feels his arms wrap around her too. She can feel him tremble against her.
“I’m sorry Aenge, I almost made the same mistakes again…”
Aengellania squeezes him, silencing his apology.
“You didn’t. You stopped yourself in time. We stopped ourselves in time.”
She pulls back a little to look at him. She lifts up a hand to tilt up his head and looks into his eyes. The fire in them is gone, and she finds only regret in them. Regret, strain, and something else.
“It seems we both have daemons we’re battling.”
Morathell tries to look away from her in shame, but when she gives him an understanding smile he finally lets himself smile back.
For the moment, it’s enough that they’ve reunited as friends.
That moment later, Aengellania hears the distant thrum of one of Barak-Drak’s frigates, slowly approaching. She breaks away from Morathell and starts prepating an Ulguan illusion, but he interrupts her.
“No.” he whispers, regaining his confidence. “Capture me. Then Barak-Drak can do a prisoner exchange for Améline.” His newfound determination flags as he adds sheepisly, “It’s the least I can do to make up to you.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Aengellania can’t help but feel her admiration for the Marshall grow when he nods firmly.
“Thank you.”
